


Jaime's Dream

by LibKat



Series: Season 8 Spitefics and Fixits [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post 8.5, Season 8 Fix It, Spoilers up to 8.5, WTF have they done to our show?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:37:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibKat/pseuds/LibKat
Summary: Something strange happens to Jaime after he leaves Harrenhal





	Jaime's Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I just can’t with the shit show I saw on HBO last night.  I don’t expect that this is how they will end it, but it probably will be just as cheap and clichéd.
> 
> This is going up fast before I think better of posting it. It is almost unedited.
> 
> Disclaimer:  Game of Thrones and these characters belong to a whole bunch of people who are not me and didn’t deserve to be their stewards.  I will return them less damaged than the showrunners have left them when I am finished playing with them.
> 
>  

Jaime’s Dream

 

Swaying in his saddle, Jaime Lannister was too exhausted to feel much of anything.  They were only a short distance from Harrenhal and already his body was betraying him without the strength of the wench to lean upon.

“Walton,” Jaime turned to the man riding next to him, “we must halt.  I’ve already experienced falling off my horse once this month.  It’s not an experience I care to repeat.”

“Lord Bolton gave strict orders, Kingslayer.  We are to take you back to Kings Landing as swiftly as possible.”  Steelshanks Walton replied as though the words were being torn from him.

_Only a fool disobeys orders if Roose Bolton is his lord._

Jaime drew his horse to a stop regardless of the men following behind him. 

“You need to return me to my family with as much as is left of me intact.  If I break a bone due to an unexpected meeting with the ground, I shall be sure to inform my father of whose fault it is.  Coupled with this gift from a Bolton man,” Jaime waved the stump of his right wrist in the air, “I doubt Tywin Lannister will show much mercy to whoever he can blame for my injuries.”

The grinding of Walton’s teeth was almost music to Jaime’s ears.

“Very well, Kingslayer.  30 minutes, no more.  We must be farther down the road before night falls.

Did the ground rush up at Jaime or was he dismounting?  Disoriented with fever, Jaime barely felt the steadying hand of a Bolton soldier who dared to touch him.  Head pounding, Jaime rested his weight against the side of his horse for a moment as he gathered his strength to walk away from the muddy track that led from Harrenhal to the Kings Road.

The woods here had been cut down a long time ago.  Ancient weathered stumps were covered in moss and soft grass grew, dotted with meadow flowers.

_How did this patch of land avoid all the destruction wrought by this damned war?_

Jaime threw himself onto the ground by a particularly large tree stump.  He did not collapse.  Not at all.  This was the stump he’d been aiming towards all along.  He arranged his cloak around him and fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.

***

“Ser Jaime.”  A deep, resonant voice called his name.

Jaime muttered to himself and turned his head to seek a more comfortable place against the tree stump.

“Ser Jaime!”  The voice was insistent.

Jaime did not wake up.  Not really.  Jaime was conscious, but also somehow still asleep.  A young man stood before him, in heavy Northern robes, like winter had come the way the Starks were always threatening.

Jaime peered at the young man. 

“Do I know you?”

“Not yet.  But you did know me once.”  The eyes of the young man went from a dark brown to entirely white. 

Before Jaime could react to that shock, another face was superimposed over the young man.  A face Jaime knew very well.  A face that haunted his dreams when his demons came for him in the night.  The face of a confused and frightened little boy realizing he’s been somewhere and seen something he should not have.

“Brandon Stark.”  Jaime breathed out the name.

“Not really.”  The young man answered.  “But call me that if you like.”

“Why are you invading my dreams?  Am I never to be free of your family?”  Jaime heard a plaintive tone in his voice that he did not like.  He straightened his spine and prepared to rise from the ground.

“Stay there, Ser Jaime.”  The insistent voice held him in place so strongly that he could not even find the will to struggle against the command.  “You are still unwell.  Keep your strength for the tasks before you.”

“I don’t take orders from a Stark.”

“I’m not giving you orders.  I’m presenting you with options.  You will choose the path that you will take.  Then choose again and again until all your options are expended.”

The man that was not Brandon Stark did nothing that Jaime could see, but they were suddenly back at Harrenhal.  As the men who were worse than animals jeered at her, Lady Brienne ,still in her ridiculous pink gown, was in a bear pit fighting for her life.  And losing.

“What are they doing?  Her father will ransom her.  She should have been safely held until then.”  Jaime cried out.

“Money means little to men like these, Ser Jaime.  You should know that better than anyone.” 

The hand that was no longer there burned at the cold gaze of whatever Brandon Stark had become.

Jaime did not have time to cradle his aching wrist before they were somewhere else.

Joffrey on the ground, choking on his own blood, his face engorged and purple, as Cersei screamed and cried.

Tyrion with a crossbow in his hands.

Littlefinger shoving Lysa Arryn to her death as Sansa Stark watched.

A woman with the silver hair of a Targaryen leading an army Essosi warriors to a walled city crowned by a statue of a harpy.

Myrcella with blood trailing down her sweet face as she died.

Tommen outlawing trial by combat as Cersei looked at him as she looks at her enemies.

Tommen’s body broken and bleeding on the stones of the courtyard.

Father scheming to remove him from the Kingsguard in return for Tyrion’s life. 

Cersei scheming.  The Tyrells scheming.  Littlefinger scheming.  _Sansa Stark_ scheming.

The sept of Baelor erupting in green fire.

His army dying in fire hotter than the deepest of the hells.

Kings Landing ablaze as he holds Cersei in his arms.

So much fire.

The beat of dragon wings.

“No, no, no,” the sleeping Jaime moaned.

Cersei in bed with Cousin Lancel, with members of his own Kingsgaurd, with someone who looked a lot like Euron Greyjoy.

Cersei whispering “Never betray me again.”

Images rushing by, so fast they are barely comprehensible.  But Jaime does comprehend.

When it stops he is almost jolted to the ground.

It is night.  There is screaming.  The sound of swords hacking bone, piercing flesh is so loud that Jaime fears he will never hear anything else. 

Grey banners burn as someone chants “Make way for the King in the North.”

The body of a red-haired woman is desecrated before being rolled into a river.

In the moonlight, Jaime sees the two towers of the Twins.

This has his father’s signature all over it, written in blood.

“Yes, this is your father’s handiwork, a red wedding carried out by Walder Frey and Roose Bolton.”  Brandon Stark’s face holds no more emotion than it might on a summer stroll through calm woods.

“Roose Bolton?”

“Why else do you think he was willing to let you go?  Robb Stark would have his head if he knew that you had been captured and released.  Your father promised him the North in return for his betrayal, as he promised Walder Frey the Riverlands.  Neither of them is smart enough to anticipate that Tywin Lannister will not let them hold their new lands for long.”

“I’d gladly have killed your brother and all his men myself.  But this.  This is …”

“Wrong?”  Brandon Stark looked Jaime deeply in the eyes.  Jaime’s every action, his every sin felt like they were being pulled from the depths of his soul and examined as a maester would examine a wound for putrefaction.  “You felt something with Brienne of Tarth, did you not?”

“I felt irritation. Great naïve beast of a woman.” Jaime tore his eyes away.

“I’m not talking about what you felt when you saw her naked body in the bath, Ser Jaime.  I’m talking about the echo of the boy you once were, the knight you wanted to be.  The man you gave up for your sister and your House.”

Brandon Stark gestured about him.  “The path you are on leads to the destruction of your family, the death of your children.  Your father, your sister, your brother are doomed if this future is not changed.”

“And if I save your brother, my enemy, it will save my House?  You must be the one dreaming if you think that I would be so gullible.  Robb Stark would kill every one of us if he were victorious.”

“Not if you save the lives of his wife and child.  The game of thrones must end before there’s no one left to play.”

“And how do I convince anyone of that?  I’m the oath breaker, the man without honor.”

“Take this.”  Brandon held a piece of white wood out to Jaime.  “When you need to make someone see the truth of your words, it will help you.  And there is a raven scroll to be found in Roose Bolton’s solar, fallen behind the desk.  Retrieve that and you won’t need to depend on magic to make my brother listen to you.”

“Why me?”  Jaime asked in a whisper.

“I don’t understand how or why, but this I know.  You are the only one.  We tried to nudge you from your chosen path again and again, but you are a stubborn man, Ser Jaime.  I saw all the misdeeds of your life, still, you are a better man than you imagine.  Decide which path you will follow and when it branches, decide again.  Continue on to Kings Landing or return to Harrenhal for Lady Brienne.  This is the first choice of many, Ser Jaime.  Westeros and all the gods hope that you choose wisely.”

***

Jaime woke with a start as a foot kicked his leg.

“Time’s up, Kingslayer.  Back on your horse now that you’ve had your beauty sleep.”  The common soldier laughed.

Jaime looked down at his remaining hand.  He must have gripped one of the tree roots too tightly in his sleep.  A small piece of gnarled white wood rested in his palm.

Staring at it in wonder, a shudder rose from Jaime’s feet and didn’t stop until the ends of his hair waved before his eyes.

“I have to talk to your commander.”  Jaime barked out at the foot soldier who dared to mock him.  “We must return to Harrenhal.  I have a lady to save and a wedding to stop.”     

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
